


shell games

by thinkatory



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Belts, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Dom/sub, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, Impact Play, M/M, Married Couple, Over the Knee, Partner Betrayal, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:33:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25592833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkatory/pseuds/thinkatory
Summary: Elias takes his Archivist by the hand and in hand, until he comes into his own.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 7
Kudos: 60
Collections: Rare Male Slash Exchange 2020





	shell games

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spacehopper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/gifts).



> I combined a few of your prompts here, as you may see from the tags. I debated on whether this was mature or explicit, so I hope you don't feel particularly fooled by that tag, I think it's a fringe case. It was a great pleasure to pick up this pinch-hit, as I'd already wanted to treat you. I hope you enjoy this!

A full week into Jon's tenure as Head Archivist, the kiss from Elias Bouchard – dropped on his mouth as Elias politely escorts him to the office door – comes from nowhere. It's a brief affair, punctuated only by a brief stroke of a thumb against Jon's cheek, then Elias mildly suggests Jon leave his office and return to sorting out records or what have you.

Technically, it's probably some sort of HR nightmare, but the recurring thought of it makes Jon's throat catch for the next fortnight, recurring more than he's ready to admit even to himself, with the vague sense of Elias's mouth against his and insinuating even further. It's not even the ghost of a sensation, but it's there, and ridiculous, and he knows it. There is an immense amount to worry about with his new responsibility to the Archive, and, yes, of course he's worrying about all of that, but Jon makes his way into Elias's office at an entirely too-late hour anyway and hovers in the doorway.

"Have a drink with me," Elias suggests, holding his gaze, then offers a faint smile. He only breaks eye contact to fetch out two tumblers and a bottle of whiskey, and Jon moves into the room to sit across from him, frozen, uncertain.

Within two drinks Elias is kissing him, Jon pinned against the chair beneath him, and despite every indication that this isn't anything he's ever truly wanted, he _wants_.

* * *

Jon isn't particularly skilled at pretending everything is fine, even with people who don't know him well. Elias knows him well; Elias knows every piece of him, every inch of him.

The scars he has from Prentiss haunt him. He touches them more often than he should, and in their shared flat Elias stops his hand from going back to them, pressing a light kiss to the marks instead.

"I want to quit," Jon dares to voice.

"You can't," Elias says softly. "I know you can do this."

"Elias, I can't." But Elias is still close, gently resting against him, and he knows he can't win this argument. He takes a different tack. "Elias. _Please._ "

"Do you think I would have chosen someone who couldn't live up to my expectations?" Elias prompts him.

"That's not the point." Jon clears his throat. "I want to... help the Archive, keep everyone safe. But look at, I mean, I can't..."

"That's hardly your fault." Elias's mouth is soft against his skin now, between murmurs. "Jon, I will always protect you."

It always comes down to Elias. Jon loves him, he knows that. But it feels as though he's always comparatively helpless, with Elias waiting there to save him. He's starting to wonder if, even though this isn't what he wants at all from a relationship, maybe it's where he's meant to be. "I know," he says finally, and reaches a hand to squeeze Elias's thigh.

"Marry me," Elias whispers, and the moment tears Jon's mind in half, fear and uncertainty, overwhelmed love, twinned and tensely pressed together inside of him.

"Yes," Jon says through all of it, and repeats more firmly. "Yes."

It doesn't matter what the Archival staff thinks (and they do have thoughts, none of which they're willing to communicate in anything besides concerned or weary looks). Elias isn't perfect; he's pushy, he uses whatever he can to get what he wants, he's utter management material in readiness to put his people through whatever needs must in order to achieve an objective, but Jon knows how he feels about him. Jon isn't stupid. He knows how this is supposed to feel, and this is it. If Elias believes in him despite all his failures, if Jon is ready to commit to the Archive and Elias's mission despite everything, if outside of the Institute they're by all accounts a normal, happy couple, _why not?_

They're married within a month before a judge and not many others. Jon kisses him, and for at least a week forgets about his scars.

* * *

Gertrude Robinson was murdered.

Jon spends hours awake trying to put as many pieces together as he can in as many configurations as possible, puzzling out who would do something so mundane as killing her with a _gun_ , but it's an insane exercise. He doesn't have enough information. He may never have enough information. He just has to live with the knowledge that anything he does might be enough to tip the murderer into killing him as well.

How do you trust anyone when you know that someone's waiting in the wings to murder you at the slightest provocation?

In the morning, Jon's too exhausted to manage, and burns himself on the damn teakettle. He swears, runs cold water over his hand, his face threatening to heat as well, and when he looks up Elias just has his eyebrows raised. Jon tries a wry smile. It's not enough to get out of the conversation, he knows, but it's worth a try.

"Go on." Elias is, as ever, to the point.

"I know," Jon starts, but Elias gestures him off. Jon frowns. "I know you know I haven't been sleeping, but you have to understand – "

"I want to know how you've been treating your staff," Elias interjects, gaze steady on his face.

Jon can't look away. He's never been able to look away. "Right now?" he tries, in a deadpan. "Can't we wait until we're in your office, with all the paperwork you can file on my inappropriate behavior?"

"I don't like this," Elias says, and it's not even pointed; it's cool, near withering, and Jon feels terrible in a rush. "You need to pull yourself together."

"I can't help it," Jon blurts out, frustrated now. "Maybe you've sorted out in your head, how _dangerous_ all of this is for us, maybe you're used to knowing someone is ready and waiting to murder you given a reason, I'm not." He forces the words past the tightness in his throat, the desire to let this go because of the look on his husband's face, then as soon as he's past that he can't stop himself talking. "Gertrude – "

"Stop."

It works. Jon stops, and he feels his face burning. Elias is just watching him, as though if he waits long enough Jon will force all of this back and manage it the way he expects. Jon falters under that look, then moves to one of the kitchen cabinets to snatch a hidden packet of cigarettes and his lighter from his pocket. He lights up and puffs away, silent, not looking at Elias.

"If I hear you're doing this," Elias says, "if I hear you're making your assistants uncomfortable, I will have to sort this out."

"I know." Jon focuses on the lit tip of the cigarette.

"I believe in you, and I trust you, Jon." There's the briefest pause before he goes on, Jon still too mortified to look at his husband and see what expression might be waiting for his glance. "Don't fail me."

"I know," Jon repeats, more hushed. "Elias."

"Yes, Jon."

Jon manages to look Elias in the face. That coolness is gone, and he could almost collapse from relief. "I love you," he says.

The faintest smile flickers onto Elias's face. "Yes, Jon."

Jon rolls his eyes, good-natured. "Come on."

Elias looks more interested than anything, now. "I love you, too, Jon."

Good. Fine. Jon puffs on his fag, nervous but sorted for the moment. That's all he needs to hear, at least for now.

* * *

Tim's in Elias's office, and he's not trying to be subtle about it. Jon hovers a few feet from the closed door.

"Far be it from me to judge Mrs Elias Bouchard," Tim is saying loudly, "but this is getting ridiculous. He's shut us all out. He's treating us like we're criminals – "

"I think you may be exaggerating, Tim," Elias says patiently.

"I'm not and you know damn well I'm not," Tim fires back. "So are you going to do something about it, or do I need to appeal upwards? To the Lukases, maybe?"

"I don't think you want to engage with the Lukases," Elias says, now mild. "Leave it to me."

"You know, I was sure we'd see you playing favorites once you started in with Jon, but until now I never thought you were," Tim says heatedly. "Are you really going to keep favoring him even when he's acting like this?"

"No," Elias says; the tone in his voice chills Jon to the bone, and he takes two more steps away from the door. "I'll handle it. Thank you, Tim, for your time."

That's Jon's cue. He darts down the corridor and busies himself as though he's genuinely looking through the paperwork he'd initially been meaning to shove into Martin's hands as Tim leaves and refuses to look at him. His throat catches, and he stops Tim with a hand on his arm.

"What," Tim says flatly.

"Can you give this to Martin?" Jon tries, then adds, "Please."

Tim accepts the folder, and turns away, silently stalking off. Jon finds his breaths unsteady as his heart stops pounding away in his ears.

Nothing comes of it until after dinner. Jon's nearly forgotten, then he looks into Elias's face, about to make a dry joke, and his words falter at the expression he finds.

"Come here." Elias doesn't look as though he's joking. Jon pulls his chair closer, and Elias shakes his head; he moves his fingers into Jon's hair, another hand against his shoulder, and gets him down to his knees in front of Elias in his chair. Jon just stares up at him, bereft for words.

"You're going to stop this." Elias's words are soft, steady, cool. "You have better things to do than run yourself ragged and alienate your staff."

Jon has to clear his throat to even speak. "Elias, I'm not trying to."

"But you are." Jon releases a slow breath as Elias's fingers tighten in his hair. "You're embarrassing yourself. You're embarrassing me."

"I'm not." Jon doesn't think he can move. "Please."

"Get up." Elias releases his hair with a gentle push against his scalp, and Jon hurries to his feet as Elias stands and takes Jon by the elbow to haul him into the bedroom. Jon doesn't have much opportunity to stammer much of anything out or protest; Elias gestures sharply, and Jon silently takes off his clothes, piece by piece, gaze as near to Elias as he can manage through the concern.

"On the bed." Elias gestures demonstratively, mild. "Hands and knees."

Jon pulls in a breath and follows orders, frankly unsure, staring at the pattern on the matched pillowcase and duvet that Elias bought for them months ago around the time of the wedding. It's a mundane thought, but one that comforts him when he's dealing with this Elias; they're both Elias, it's the same Elias. Elias brushes something flat, rough, against Jon's side, a light touch, and interrupts Jon's train of thought as he speaks up, smooth and thoughtful.

"I've been refraining from all this because I wasn't sure it was necessary with you, and we had all the time in the world to explore. Now I'm not so sure. Now I think it's time."

"What's going on?" Jon asks softly.

Elias's gentle dragging of the object moves up to Jon's neck; a belt, wrapped around his hand, with which he raises Jon's chin. "Do you believe you need someone to ground you in reality?"

Oh. This is starting to make more sense, and is not wholly unwelcome. Jon's watched videos with confused fascination before, and... there's a non-zero chance Elias knows that. "Maybe," he whispers.

"It's worth a try, isn't it?" Elias leans in to kiss him on the mouth, a pointed gesture somehow, and stalks back, away from Jon's field of vision. "Tell me to stop and I will."

Jon has to believe that's true, though some horrible part of him isn't sure. "Yes," he agrees, just loudly enough for Elias to hear.

"Good," Elias says with a note of finality, then within an instant the belt beats flat and harsh against his arse. Jon's breath halts in his chest and he digs his fingers into the pillow and duvet, but he says nothing. "One of ten," Elias is saying behind him, then the belt lashes out against him again and he can feel each impact beyond tingling where it landed. "Two."

Jon closes his eyes firmly at three, then four, and his heart pounds rapidly; he can't think of anything but the impact and the anticipation, now. "You're making mistakes," Elias says, from behind him, and the belt hits again. _Five._ "I told you to stop and you didn't listen."

"I know," Jon gets out. "I know, I'm sorry."

"I promised I would sort you." Elias runs his hand lightly against the impact marks, and Jon breathes, shaky, at the contrast. "Apparently you won't listen to reason, so this will have to do."

A klaxon blares in his mind, warning of five more, but he doesn't have the courage to ask when they'll be coming. Asking questions like that hardly seems to be on the table anyway. Jon is silent, then Elias crosses into his field of vision and tosses the belt onto the floor. He watches as Elias moves to sit on the bed and glances back at him.

"On your stomach, over my knees," Elias says, "now."

Jon knows better than to question at this point. He moves carefully into the position, hoping for some small comfort, but the only thing Elias does is stroke a hand down Jon's back to his arse again. It still aches, but less, at least until Elias draws his hand back and raps it firmly against his arse again.

"Jesus," bursts out of Jon's mouth in a rush, and he slams his mouth shut at the sound of a sigh from Elias.

"Six," is Elias's only response to that.

Jon realizes by the point that _seven_ hits that he's starting to get hard, cock rubbed up against Elias's clothed thigh. Technically it's not unwelcome, but it's probably, definitely, not what Elias is intending right now. _Eight_ , a harder strike of Elias's hand against previous marks, has him accidentally grinding his cock into Elias's thigh, though, and a soft groan escapes him.

"So." Elias is conversational as he goes on. "Nine." This one forces Jon into a half-thrust against Elias's leg, in arousal more embarrassing than Jon can recall. "I didn't expect you to enjoy this. That's interesting."

"I'm sorry," Jon tries, because there's no denying it now.

"I think you're aware that this isn't the point," Elias says, and his palm and fingers glide over Jon's arse before his hand strikes harder than ever there one more time, and Jon buries his face in Elias's trouser leg, mortified at how hard he is.

"That's ten. Get up." Elias is more than clear, but Jon isn't sure he wants to drag himself up to sitting right now and have it be immensely clear that he's some kind of absolute deviant. Of course, he has no real choice right now, so he pulls himself up and refuses to meet Elias's gaze, at least until Elias seizes him by the chin nearly casually and forces the eye contact. "I'm going to clean up dinner," he says, an edge to his tone yet. "Washing up. All of that. You're going to sort yourself out in here. We'll see how the rest of the night goes."

Jon's heart sinks. "Elias," he starts.

"No." Elias strokes Jon's cheek, the briefest indication of tenderness. "You've proven you need a firm hand, and not in the way you currently hope." Jon could die from embarrassment, fuck. "We'll keep on like this until you learn your lesson. Do you understand me, Jon?"

"Yes." Jon desperately forces himself to calm down, forcing down emotions he's never felt before and couldn't name, as Elias pushes his face away and leaves the room. Silently, he seizes lotion and a tissue to manage himself in more shame than he's experienced in years (or, maybe, his entire life).

* * *

It's not a completely smooth road. As time passes, Jon does better, and Elias allows him some small privileges – sucking Elias off, Elias jerking him off, one time a fuck to completion and an approving kiss from Elias that send Jon into the bed with a perfect, content exhaustion. Jon manages to get by. Eventually he realizes this is some sexually bizarre version of therapy, but he doesn't care. The Archive doesn't hate him vividly anymore, and it's a start.

He falteringly makes his way through a mostly accepted apology to his staff the same day that everything goes to hell, and Jurgen Leitner's blood stains the Archive's floor.

Jon buries his face in Elias's shoulder; Elias's fingers stroke his hair, gentle, for just a moment, then Elias presses him back half a step. "It's time to go," he says. "I can't take you."

"I'll figure it out," Jon whispers. "Elias – "

"Can I trust you?" Elias interrupts him, expression unreadable.

"Yes," Jon says instantly. "God, yes, are you serious?"

Elias kisses him, then steps back. "It's time for you to go." He looks still, as though he doesn't know what to do, how to cope, who to trust. Jon aches. "Jon – "

"I love you," Jon makes clear. "I'll see you soon."

Elias glances away. "I love you." It's not convincing. Jon doesn't need this right now, and it's frustrating, but he doesn't have the time to fight with his husband right now. "Go."

"Sorry," Jon mutters, on edge, and forces himself to leave.

(Georgie is understanding enough when he explains he's having a fight with his husband. At the very least, it's got the smallest kernel of truth to it, which is the best sort of lie.)

* * *

Jon hates himself for it, but time passes as he's stuck at Georgie's in exile, and he grows far past angry. There's so little by way of information on any of the _multiple_ fucking murders at the Institute, Melanie is doing her best but it's not enough, and all he's getting from Elias are statements sent through the mail. More than ever, he doesn't sleep, and he misses Elias too fiercely to manage like a normal person.

Within a week, Jon is actively dreaming of being home with Elias, and has to restrain himself from going back to the flat in the middle of the night in a fit of pique. He's tired of the same clothes, of Georgie's confused pity, of Melanie's weariness with him. He just wants Elias. Even if Elias disciplines him within an inch of his life, that would be better than this, especially the _not knowing_ if his husband thinks he's a murderer.

Soon enough, Georgie seems torn between being fond of him and being absolutely tired of him, but Admiral loves him completely. That's something. There's nothing to do but to hunt down information on his own, information he's farming from these statements that are his only connection or communication or both with the person who supposedly claimed love and fidelity to him. Maybe if he proves he's worth something to the Archive, that he means well, Elias will somehow figure out a way for him to come home.

Of course, Jon doesn't know if he'll readily forgive Elias for all of this, but he knows he will eventually. He, at least, meant his vows.

* * *

So, there are a lot of monsters who think it's hilarious to torment him. It's not ideal. But it comes together. Mostly. There's no point in not running off after leads anywhere they are, China, America, it's all the same, plane trips or no. 

Elias probably knew this job would make him need these statements to live, and didn't care. Elias doesn't care as long as he solves the problem, so he has to solve the problem. _Then_ maybe Elias will care, Jon thinks in one pathetic moment, then laughs sharply, dryly, at himself.

Gerry looks at him, flat, desperate for release, and says, "What have they done to you?"

Great. It's written all over his face. "Nothing worse than what they did to you," Jon says, and sighs wearily. "Are you ready?"

"More than you could ever imagine."

He burns the page. It's a relief to release someone from the prison that is this world of fear, someone bound to this life by someone who purported to love them.

* * *

When Daisy takes Jon back to the Institute, with almost all the information he needs at the ready and all the trauma alongside, he steps between the office door and Daisy before she can break her way in.

"No," Daisy says flatly. "Don't do this."

"I need a moment," Jon says, unamused. "Gather the others. Hopefully not at gunpoint. They all deserve to hear as well."

"Fine." Daisy's weary as she turns away, hand on her gun yet.

Jon moves into the office, where Elias is straightening a photo on the wall. It takes everything within him not to shove Elias against the wall and finally release the desperate grip on his sanity and patience he's been holding onto for months. Instead, he just glares at Elias, which is so frustratingly ineffectual he could die. No hellos, no _I missed you_ s, not now. "Jon," Elias starts, with a tinge of amusement and a sigh.

"No. No, stop," Jon snaps off. "You dragged me into this. I'm some sort of – _hybrid_ now, don't tell me you didn't know that this job would change me, I can't believe that you'd." He shakes his head with a sharp motion. "And, you can't tell me it's taken you this long to find absolutely nothing on Leitner. _You_ , of all people, should have _something_ by now – " Shit, shit. This was a mistake, he's losing it. "Elias, damn it, you could have _called_ me – "

"Oh, Jon," Elias says, despairing but now obviously amused, "you really don't understand, do you?"

"I understand a lot more than you think!" It's too sharp a retort, and he paces away, not facing Elias. "It's all coming together. Since that's all you care about. The ritual. I won't bother you with anything else."

"Don't be catty." Elias seems even more amused now. "It doesn't become you."

"What the _hell_ ," Jon fumes now. "What in the hell is wrong with you?"

Elias measures his words. "This has never been about us. You're the Archivist. That's what I need you to be, more than anything else. Do you understand? Everything else is secondary."

"Not to me," Jon retorts, and closes the distance between them now to shove Elias into the wall with a swift movement as he's fantasized for weeks. "Do _you_ understand?"

Elias wears a faint smile despite it all. "Our marriage or the world? Which is more important to you?"

"Fuck you." Jon knows he's breaking down, and hates it. "I'll save the world. But fuck you."

"Do you think this is wise?" Elias checks, tone easy.

"Yes, my husband is an immensely powerful person and you're going to belt the hell out of me later if you even care enough to, and I don't care," Jon hisses; his eyes are burning. "What are you going to do to me now, Elias, what can you do to me that's worse than what you've already done?"

"Nothing." It stops Jon cold. "Not yet."

Elias is giving nothing away in his face, but Jon's newly awash with terror now. "What in the hell does that mean?" he presses.

"Everyone should be here soon." It's not an answer, and Jon thinks in a horrible moment that he's going to lose his grip, start to cry, be as pathetic as he's felt for too long now. "Jon," Elias says, with an edge to it. "I'll tell you everything. You know I have to, if you ask."

"Do I know that?" Jon swallows down the intensity of it all. He looks Elias in the face, gaze too open, too vulnerable, and Elias draws him into a brief kiss. It's too much, and he kisses Elias again after, halfway to forgiving like he knew he'd be even with that little. Elias presses his hand to Jon's chest to push him back a step, and Jon knows to give him the space.

Within five minutes they're all congregated in Elias's office, and Jon closes his eyes tightly, ignoring the ring on his finger as best he can, as he says to Elias, " _Tell me the truth_."

He doesn't expect it to work, but Elias answers anyway. "I killed Gertrude Robinson because she meant to destroy the Archive. I killed Jurgen Leitner because he meant to reveal too much to you too soon, Jon. I did it all to protect this institution. I would do it again."

Shock hits them all, but the others manage to respond. It's Jon who's frozen in place and speechless. He's sure the conversation is all very important, and he wants to care, but none of it matters in that exact moment, because it's been Elias all along.

Jon silently, without regard for anything else going on in the room, lights up a cigarette.

They all realize there's nothing to be done, but none more than Jon, who is left in the office alone with Elias, now on his second cigarette. "Let's go home," Elias says mildly, and Jon nods mutely.

They don't live far, but the silence stretches thick between them anyway as they drive and make their way into the building. Elias opens the door, and Jon moves inside, mind past racing now, made up completely. He turns to face Elias as he shuts and locks the door, and seizes him by the arm to yank him into the bedroom.

"Enough." Jon hates his tone, brittle, hurt, vulnerable, harsh. "I've never deserved punishment more than you have, have I?"

"Do you mean to punish me?" Elias asks, mild.

"Absolutely." Jon stares at him. "Go on."

Elias absorbs that, then begins to shed his clothes. Once he's finished, Jon pushes him onto the bed and takes off his belt, lashing one strike with it against Elias's arse inexpertly but the next right on target, and the next after that, reveling in the sharp intakes of breath Elias can't help but manage. "Jon," Elias murmurs, but he doesn't listen. It's not a _stop_ so it doesn't matter, and he doesn't want to hear it. Another blow, and Elias starts laughing softly into the bed.

"You," Jon breathes, and slams the belt into Elias's already reddened arse, "you are a _monster_ and a liar and – "

"Like attracts like," Elias breathes.

"Was any of this – " No. He can't do this right now. He focuses on two more strikes, on Elias's shudders, and the words escape his mouth anyway. "Did you even love me, you absolute _sociopath_?"

Elias's answer is instant. "Yes."

Jon realizes too late that any answer was going to be a terrible one, that he doesn't like this and doesn't want this, and that all he wants is for Elias to suffer or apologize, whichever comes first. Jon hits him again and again until his arse is completely flushed and bruising, a desperate groan leaving Elias's mouth as he sinks forward, and Jon drops the belt to the side of the bed. In a quick motion, Jon undoes his tie, snatching up Elias's as well, and begins to tie Elias down to the bed.

Elias's increasing interest in the situation isn't subtle – he's already hard by the time that the knots are finished – but Jon is done. He's pathetic, he needs to try not to cry somewhere, and he can't look at Elias for another second. He moves off of the bed, backs away two steps, and stares at his husband as though he'll find an answer there. He knows he won't.

"So," Elias says, eyes trained tight on Jon's face. "What will it be?"

"I'll figure it out," Jon says, terse, and leaves the room, shutting the door behind him.


End file.
